


Charlie and Mac Get Off

by ameliabuckle



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, One Hand Two Dicks Three Points, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-20 22:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14903202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliabuckle/pseuds/ameliabuckle
Summary: Friendship isn’t gay. It’s friendship.





	Charlie and Mac Get Off

If goalposts shift, well, maybe it’s just because you’ve gotten that much better at kicking. So, you know, you need to move the goalposts further back. ‘Cause, like, you’re just so fucking good at kicking stuff really far, and you never improve without a challenge, and what’s life without improvement.

Mac’s thoughts are racing in this sort of tenor as he sits on the edge of the bed, his dick in his hand, staring up at Charlie with wide eyes.

“I dunno, dude,” he says, his sharp periphs entirely focused on the place where Charlie’s dick is sticking out of _his_ pants, pointing at Mac’s chest even though Charlie’s hands are balled in frustrated fists on his hips. “Seems kinda, like, you know—"

“Ohh, gay, gay, gay; shit’s always ‘gay this’ and ‘gay that’ with you recently, ” Charlie’s hands fly up to shoulder level, fluttering in sarcastic jazz hands. “Who cares. Literally who cares."

Mac frowns at this, looking off to the side to consider. That seems like an unfair accusation to him. Had their casual dual porn consumption turned into jerking off together? Sure. That’s not gay; that’s just what porn is for. Did they start sitting closer together and maybe helping each other out a bit? Fine, but friendship isn’t gay. It’s friendship. Did he sometimes let Charlie lean over and nibble on his neck and ear a little bit while it was happening? Well, Charlie’s always putting shit in his mouth. Whatever. He absent-mindedly pumps his dick once, thinking about it, then quickly moves his hand away, putting it carefully at his side.

“Dude! See? Come on. Stop worrying. Look. Nothing new here,” Charlie says, kicking happily out of his jeans. He isn’t wearing underwear. "Lay back,” he insists, and Mac does, gripping reflexively at the bed in terror. Charlie squirms onto his lap, legs sprawled over Mac’s, and both of their breaths catch when he manages to wiggle forward enough that their shafts touch.

“Oh. Yeah. Shit. This is going to be cool, Mac. Trust me,” Charlie mumbles. He puts one hand behind him, on Mac’s knee, to brace himself, and closes the other around both of their dicks at once. Mac gasps, grabbing fistfuls of bedsheet. Charlie takes a brief moment to gather himself, then begins slowly dragging his hand up and down. Mac's entire body lights up and he becomes massively aware of every point of heat and pressure between them. He’s furious that there’s fabric in the way.

“You’re gonna fuck up the aim and stain my jeans, man,” He manages to gasp out, slightly shocked at how low his voice is. Charlie mutters something unintelligible and Mac feels instant regret as Charlie lets go and pulls away, raising up unsteadily to his knees. After a moment of of consideration, he leans forward to make as much space as possible, and the shifting of his weight as he tries to awkwardly shove the pants off of a lap he apparently refuses to remove himself from makes Mac close his eyes and stop trying to name every single thing he’s feeling.

After way too many seconds of rustling and Charlie’s annoyed grunts mixing with Mac’s small gasps, Mac feels cold air hit his knees and hears the _whump_ of the fabric pooling around his ankles. Charlie didn’t manage to pull down his underwear with it, but he still feels the full warmth of Charlie’s thighs against his as he settles back down.

“Now where the fuck was I before someone’s fucking, lack of planning, got in the way, because _someone_ apparently hasn’t learned to _listen to me about shit_ and _go with the goddamn flow already_ ,” Charlie grumbles. Before Mac has the chance to snap back, Charlie has their dicks pressed together again in one hand and is jerking them off, faster and rougher than before, and he loses the words.

It’s not a new sound to Mac, but it echoes it his ears in this new context. He finally opens his eyes again and looks at Charlie’s face for the first time in a while. Charlie’s own eyes are cast down in concentration and his lips are parted ever-so-slightly. Mac watches in awe as Charlie’s tongue darts out between them, leaving them glistening obscenely.

“Oh shit, I can like, feel when your dick— fuckin—” Charlie says, cutting himself off with a groan. Mac keeps his gaze on Charlie for long enough to see his jaw fall fully open, then he has to look away, not wanting this to end too soon.

Charlie shifts suddenly, hunching forward into an angle that leaves less space between them, pressing his free hand against Mac’s stomach to hold himself up. Mac squeezes his eyes shut as the hand slides slowly up his torso, slipping over the sweat he suddenly realises is covering his entire body.

“Dude, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t,” Charlie whines, his fingers pressing into Mac’s slick chest, trying to get a better grip. “Wait. Hold on."

Mac groans, throwing an arm over his face, biting at the flesh above the crook of his elbow. His mind races over all of the soft parts on each other they could sink their teeth into. Not _hard_ , you know, just. A little hard. Flailing internally for something to focus on, he realises Charlie is babbling. Mac risks a peek from behind his arm, then lets it fall away from his face entirely so he can just watch the words tumble out of Charlie’s mouth.

“This feels so fucking good shit you’re so thick I’m glad you t— trust me god shit I can feel your c— cock twitching against mine holy shit oh my god shit fuck,” and Charlie’s fingers dig hard into Mac’s ribs as he starts to come. Mac reaches up and claws at Charlie’s upper arm, trying to get an equally good hold on him as the look on Charlie’s face and the feeling of his rapidly-moving palm getting slicker and hotter sets Mac off almost immediately. Everything goes bright white and he throws his head back. Charlie works them both through it, squeezing hard, talking complete nonsense the entire time.

After hours, weeks, milliseconds, Mac’s vision begins to return to him. He slowly registers the feeling of Charlie’s greasy hair and hot breath against his stomach as he rests his forehead there, trying to get himself together, and realises that he’s gripping Charlie’s shoulder so hard that his knuckles are going pale. He lets go, slightly alarmed, and tries not to feel any sort of way about the deep red scratches criss-crossing their way up to that spot.

“You’re a fucking furnace, man. Get off me,” he whispers. Charlie mutters something that sounds vaguely like “Get off you, fuckin _got you off_ , asshole." Mac chooses to politely ignore this, as well as the slight twinge deep in his chest when his friend actually follows through, doing an ungainly roll to end up sprawled beside him. Mac inhales in an exaggerated way to show his relief at being able to breathe again, hissing as it catches at the spot Charlie had been using as leverage.

“Shit, man, I think that’s gonna bruise or some shit,” he says. Charlie just laughs. Mac sighs and continues, “Don’t… fuckin’ touch my bed with that hand."

“Oh, this hand?” Charlie asks, waving his absurdly sticky hand a bit too energetically for Mac’s comfort, given that the splash zone includes his goddamn pillow. “Okey doke.” He punctuates the thought with a cartoonish _smack_ as he slaps it down on Mac’s stomach.

“Ew! Dude! You’re literally disgusting!” Mac springs up, nearly tripping over the jeans still wrapped around his ankles in his desperation to look around for a washcloth or sock or Charlie’s fucking jacket, the asshole.

“Well, it’s not all me, bud,” Charlie says, shrugging, looking suddenly like he’s ready to conk out right there, sideways across Mac’s rumpled bed. Mac, feeling heat rise into his cheeks, is grateful for the closed eyes. He steps out of his pants and kicks them under the bed, maybe with more force than strictly necessary.

There's a towel thrown over the back of his chair from showering earlier. He wipes himself off, then finds himself sitting down beside Charlie, cleaning him up as best he can. Charlie opens his eyes at the contact, smiling blearily up at him. Mac avoids his gaze, focusing on maneuvering to the driest parts of the towel with minimal contact to the used parts.

Charlie's eyes drift closed again as Mac wraps the coarse fabric around his hand. His voice is already thick with sleep when he says, "Thanks, man. I mean it. S'all us. You know. Like, everything." Mac flushes again, his rough scrubbing of Charlie's fingers slowing to a contemplative circling of his thumbs. He snaps out of it when Charlie snores lightly, quickly balling up the towel and pushing himself to the end of the bed to free throw it into his laundry hamper. Three points. Maybe even five.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to @blairkitsch for the title, encouragement, and general help


End file.
